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poetry

Soft as adamantium

It’s crazy…people think I’m soft, soft like a pillow
but deep inside – wait, no, just underneath the surface
I am hard, hard like metal
Hard like steel
Titanium
Adamantium
So hard it may as well be unreal
(I’m not real)

I drink.
I can drink.
I do drink; drink rivers
Drink waterfalls
Drink like a trickle at the head of the Mississippi
Drink like a champion at the delta, broad and rushing–
Unrelenting and mighty

I fight
I can fight
I was made to fight
To fight the battles that people are unwilling
To fight when it means to protect those and that which I love
I can and do and will never hesitate to wade into the midst of battle
My hands plain and unprotected; my heart exposed and destructive

I am the opposite of soft
My polite words, my trained charm and etiquette
Mask a beast, a barbarian, an untrained bezerker
Held back by politesse and conformity
Easily contained by a bit of a love, a soft stroke to the nape of the neck
The soft spot of the head

Held, most held, completely held
In a palm, a soft one
If but a willing one

(Soft as adamantium
Hard as a cloud)

 

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About Quinn

In it but not of it. A reformed player, now watcher. Speaker of raw truths.

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Raison d’etre

"Raw," she said. "I want something primal. I want something bare and naked. I want you to give me this life raw, unbidden, unhidden, free, fair, and true. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?"

One may only try.

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